Eclectic Like a Thunderstorm
by jilyesplz
Summary: James isn't exactly fluent in Muggle, but that doesn't mean he's not going to try. Jily fluff galore! Please R&R:)


"You make me eclectic," James whispers into her hair, which is a mundane shade somewhere between the color of carrots and the color of bricks, but if someone asked _him_ what color it is, he would be offended by the suggestion that there is anything else on earth like it. It is the color of Lily, he would whisper reverently. Then he would have to dodge a fist, because the only person who ever asks him that stupid question is Sirius. And Sirius only asks when he is already looking for a reason to punch him. Sirius isn't here now, though, which is why he can say stupid, soppy, true things like "you make me eclectic."

Except he can't, not really, because she turns to look up at him and one eyebrow rises skeptically, and her eyes crinkle at the edges. "Don't be an idiot, Potter. You're always eclectic. That's like saying I make you conceited." (except as she says it, she runs her hands reverently down his bare chest, and she's already lying in his bed naked, and it's almost like she thinks he's worthy of her, and knowing that definitely _does_ make him conceited. So point Potter.)

He raises both eyebrows back, because he's not an _actual prodigy of bodily manipulation_ who can move them separately. Except last month she overheard him calling her that and then she made a banner that said _James Potter: Actual Prodigy of Bodily Manipulation_ and waved it every time he made a goal in the match against Hufflepuff. So apparently she thinks he is, which is even better than actually being one, and almost enough to make him forget that he still can't raise only one eyebrow.

"Don't be a moron, Evans," he says, "I'd be dead if I were always eclectic."

She stares at him, which is one of his favorite things in the world, but right now she's staring like maybe she needs to call a doctor. Which would make sense if he were always eclectic, because, again, that'd be dangerous, but he's not, it's just when she looks at him like, well, that. "Don't be a fuckwit, Potter, weirdness isn't dangerous unless you piss off McGonagall, and she loves you…" she starts, nonsensically, and they go back and forth, trading insults in between arguments about whether he's only eclectic with her.

"Don't be a goofburger, Evans, of course it's dangerous. How could I play Quidditch if all I could feel all the time was eclecticity?"

"Don't be a nincompoop, Potter…"

"Don't be a mentally-handicapped flobberworm, Evans…"

"Don't let your IQ drop below your Potions grade, Pot-" that one is below the belt, so he tackles her, and she laughs giddily, throwing out a hand because he almost knocked them both off the bed. What she catches is his lamp, and then her eyes go wide, she lets out a little "oh" of comprehension, and she sits straight up in bed.

Did he mention she was naked? His sheet falls when she sits up and suddenly her whole torso is bare. He grins with his whole body, blissfully happy, dangerously eclectic. She blushes, pink blossoming on her cheeks and her breasts, and he is even happier.

"Electric, James." she whispers. You meant I make you _electric_."

He frowns. "Is _that_ the Muggle thing that lights up the world?"

"Yes." she says, and the blush grows rosier even as she slides back down beside him. "Is that what you meant?"

"Yes." he whispers back, and he winds his hands in her hair that he can't believe he gets to touch and pulls her face to his so he can kiss her nose. "Yes." she smiles, burrows lower to push her face into his neck, and he lifts his chin to rest on her head. "You make me electric, like I'm lit up, like I'm buzzing, like I'm alive for the first time."

She bites his collarbone, suddenly, in appreciation, and the electricity that jolts from that spot through his whole body feels so sharp and vibrant it is dangerous again. His whole frame jerks to attention, and she laughs. The minx likes what she does to him.

She doesn't say anything in answer, though, and he thinks she probably won't. The terrible, wonderful electric shock fades slowly to the gentler, constant, beautiful buzz of just touching her, and they curl around each other, one of her legs in between two of his. He is almost asleep when she moves, gripping his shoulder to pull her head up, her mouth to his ear.

"You make me feel like a whole thunderstorm."


End file.
